Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. At second hand it would be unendurable. She took it up in her many-ringed hands and read it judicially. . ‘You have a knack of saying just the wrong thing. At least, he would always be able to take care of Ruth. About this time,—namely, in November, 1703— while young Trenchard was in Lancashire, and his sister in London, on a visit, he received a certain communication from his confidential servant, Davies, which, at once, destroyed his hopes. I wanted the magic of love. Well, this was the side of the world where things like that happened. " Ruth walked to the companion. "Fold it … under the pillow. Still it was possible, and the difficulty was only a fresh incitement.
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